The World Spins Without Meaning
by Phillippa of the Phoenix
Summary: Minerva McGonagall must be allowed some time for carelessness.


A mourning fic, inspired by the most beautiful mourning song I've ever heard: Now That You're Gone by Fernando Ortega. I tried to do it justice. Constructive criticism is always appreciated. I've got Kleenex in case anyone feels weepy.

Disclaimer: Minerva McGonagall, Hogwarts, Animagi, Pomona Sprout, Remus Lupin, the Order of the Phoenix, Nymphadora Tonks, the Imperturbable Charm, the Hogwarts Express, and Albus Dumbledore come from the mysterious mind of JK Rowling.

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If anyone noticed that Minerva McGonagall failed to answer a single owl that summer, they all decided it was wiser to pretend nothing had changed. Well, perhaps not _nothing_, but not her. Reality was too obvious to pretend that the world wasn't growing any bleaker. 

Minerva McGonagall was never a woman – or girl – to entertain naiveté, but now when she opened her eyes, the world she saw hardly seemed to be any less dim than when they were closed. She had been able to see what good was hidden in the darkness before, but it was so obscured and far off now, and her eyes were growing older, weaker.

She had a school to head, and students and fellow professors as well, when the school year started over. Minerva McGonagall would show nothing but a brave face to those who depended on her. The past headmasters and headmistresses had done nothing less, had also had to be an anchor for the world. But she was alone now, with no one needing her to point out the light she could not yet see.

She had worn black so much that it felt an insufficient change. Fretting and worrying seemed all she was capable of, and she often spent days as a cat, lounging on the couches she had always avoided in her Animagus form, sleeping as restfully as she could. Summer days all blurred together, until Pomona Sprout entered hesitantly and made some tea. Pomona Sprout was a woman who knew her plants, so Minerva McGonagall took her cup willingly.

"It's not a sedative, it just calms a little. I promise," Pomona Sprout said. She was gentle enough that her words did not grate, but she did not have time to nurse Minerva McGonagall back to normal. No one did, as there were Things to be Done, Things that she was grateful to be left out of for the summer. Remus Lupin was in charge of the Order of the Phoenix, and Nymphadora Tonks was in charge of him. She trusted them to do all that should be done, as the leaders before them have.

She hadn't taken her hair down, not even to sleep. Her shoulders were so weighted down and weary, they could not stand the heaviness of her thick graying hair. Minerva McGonagall, for the first time in so long, did not care if she looked put together. She must be allowed some time for carelessness, if only just these hazy weeks of summer. Summer does not last forever . . .

Minerva McGonagall wished the train did not pass her house. She had put the Imperturbable Charm on her house all ready, to block out the sound of it chugging past, but could not always turn from the window fast enough to hide her eyes from its sight. It was harder to forget then, not that there was not another train running through her brain, stirring up memories that caused her to reach for Pomona Sprout's glorious tea.

Her mind, you see, could not think of the train without thinking of the school, and the school was the location of the most horrible things, both of them. The horrible things that she had had to hide her reaction of, in order to give hope to the rest of them. But she was running out of hope, even for herself. Minerva McGonagall had never worried too much before about running out of hope.

She had to remind herself often that lighting a fire would do nothing to make her warmer. The natural summer air did not even melt her in her coldest parts. Minerva McGonagall was longing for something else, something different from heat to take away her coldness, something her wand was unable to conjure.

It was deep inside her, and all through her. She would not be able to banish it, and knew that it should shock her to know that she sometimes wanted to do so. Happy memories that could never be experienced again caused her only pain; she was not able to smile over them as some did. Fresh wounds cannot even be passed over by a light hand with giving forth a teardrop of blood.

Her eyes forgot. They saw what could not be too often for Minerva McGonagall's poor sensitive soul, until her heart ceased to jump, even when her eyes insisted that it simply could not be anyone else.

Summer did not last forever. The school would be empty yet, (the school would never be full again) and there were many Things to be Done before the others came. In the recent past, the Hogwarts Express had been used for this trip, when all the teachers came to start the school up in time for the students. Minerva McGonagall had no wish to ride the Hogwarts Express. Her eyes would see what could not be there clearer than any other place; they would even see his easy stride, even see him walking next to her, shoulder to shoulder as if nothing had happened.

But it had happened. Minerva McGonagall never fully forgot that. Without his silence, the world was simply a babbling planet without sense or direction. Without his words, it spun heedlessly, recklessly, careless as all of those left behind.

She closed her eyes against the image of the great castle and opened them once she was in the headmistress' office. Minerva McGonagall rather liked the way the little knick-knacks looked surrounding her tidy desk, and liked the way the others' faces reacted to the sight of them.

There was one day before the others came. Though no one would comment if she were otherwise, she had to be prepared to lead them, to lead them as he would have, to point out hidden hope. "Albus," she cried, sprawled across the bed of the headmistress's quarters, her hair undone. "_Albus_!"

The next day, Minerva McGonagall was still alone.

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